


red is the color

by corvus_corvus



Series: IchiRuki Month 2018 [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Blushing, Drabble, F/M, Just Barely Sexy, Mild Blood, Rukia Is In Control, ooh la la
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 03:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15699474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvus_corvus/pseuds/corvus_corvus
Summary: She can’t quite tell if she pushes him around because he’s an idiot, or if it’s the way it makes her stomach flutter watching red rise to his face.





	red is the color

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for IchiRuki Month 2018, Day 15: red is the color that makes me blue. It should really be titled "red is the color that makes me blue balled" (which is not even how that word is really supposed to be used, but oh well ).

It takes so little to make this boy blush.

If she stands too close to him. If she puts a hand between his shoulder blades, correcting his fighting stance. If she looks up at him from under dark eyelashes, smiling in a way that is just as gentle as it is deadly. She can’t quite tell if she pushes him around because he’s an idiot, or if it’s the way it makes her stomach flutter watching red rise to his face. She wants to say it’s just cute, but that’s not entirely the truth.

Cute doesn’t describe the livewire jolt that travels just beneath her skin and coils up in a deep, dark part of her soul. Her blood sings, knowing that this, this is power—more, it’s _control_ —and she loves it. Loves how effortlessly she can pull at his strings and make him dance with emotion he is determined to hide; making him lose control in these little ways is the most gratifying victory.

She offers to heal him after a battle—and she really does want him to heal—but it’s more than kindness that guides her. When else does she get to gaze intently on his body without question? 

So he takes off his shirt and, predictably, blushes, avoiding eye contact all the while. The blush travels down his chest, framing the gash she examines with feigned innocence. Her mouth goes dry. It’s red on red, and she never expected it to be so delicious. A cut on his face gives her the excuse to press closer and run her thumb over his cheekbone. Semi-dry, the blood smears and makes her think of the way _he_ gives under her pressure, emotions bare for her to see. And, god, he’s so _red_ she thinks the heat inside her is going to burn her alive, then he meets her eyes nervously and she knows it will. She can hear his shallow breathing, feel his heart pound, her reward for focused looks and soft touches wreaking havoc on his system. That she can render him defenseless with so little is perhaps the biggest turn on she’s ever known. 

Healing pretenses undermined, she tilts her head up and slides her nose against his, watching his lips— _red_ —open under her gaze. There’s the brief bolt of energy when their lips brush together before a hand on her shoulder is pushing her away. “I think I can probably clean some of these wounds myself,” he fumbles over his words, “after all, it’s my fault I wasn’t more careful. That’s what you’d say, right?” She looks at him blankly. His own words are working him into a frenzied panic, and she can’t help but note that he’s still red enough to pass as a nasty sunburn. “Right,” he mumbles, answering his own question and running off to the bathroom. 

He’s always expected less of her with these kind of things, the things he thinks are solely human, that he doesn’t seem to think she knows what’s going on. The blushing, the almost-touches, a sprint to the bathroom after a near make out session, he thinks she can’t see any of it. He’s wrong, of course. But when she sits against the bathroom door and can just barely hear him groan, low and desperate under the sound of the shower, she can’t find it in herself to care. 


End file.
